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What the...
Smitherbodkins's holoterminal starts beeping, the alert sound climbing angrily, descending, and then repeating. The logo of the freshly formed Prex Liberation Army is displayed there, in midair, turning slowly. Qwynt's face blinks into view, but for now the connection is one way. "Smitherbodkins? Pick up, it's me." His bulging, round eyes stare blankly ahead, as if trying to divine his Corellian associate's presence on the other end of the line. Smitherbodkins is, in fact, at his desk at the moment, despite the rather late (and quite rude for holocalls) hour. There are still some i's to be dotted and t's to be crossed with the CEC, and Smitherbodkins is nothing if not thorough when it comes to his business ventures. He starts at the sound, looking toward the holoterminal with a rather bemused expression. He hesitates, weighing his options, but finally lets out a ragged sigh and reaches forward, pressing the button to speak. "Mr. Qwynt. How...nice to see you." Qwynt backs up from the startlingly large image of Smitherbodkins and his sudden appearance. He collects himself, strikes a sideways posture that is more befitting of a revolutionary. "So, interesting business move. Junk sales and scrap markets aren't doing it for you, and now you're building the instruments of war," he rasps out in his low-class accent. "I bet your CSA co-conspirators are very happy with this move, eh? Something to subdue the working class, or do you have, shall we, ah, say, bigger targets in mind?" Smitherbodkins leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the tiny image of the Toydarian. "They have expressed their congratulations, yes," he comments offhandedly, "though we haven't discussed the direction in which I plan to take my new acquisition yet." That's not quite true, but he certainly isn't about to discuss those plans with Qwynt. At least, not yet. A though seems to strike him, and he continues, "Oh, I must tell you, I quite enjoyed your broadcast. Very stirring. Viva la revolucion and all that." Qwynt affects a little bow to Smitherbodkins. "Ok, maybe a little, shall we say, negotiation is in order. First item on the table, the small personal matter of your illegal coup and," he adds, lowering and quickening his voice. "that time you almost fell and I tried to catch you..." Qwynt says all that in one breath, and has to gasp at the end to continue. "Anyway, item one. Let bygones be gone, as they say. We can bury the knife, eh?" He jabs a finger at Smitherbodkins. "Item two, future business relationships. Here's the plan: I take a small amount of inventory from CEC, on short-term loan. Say a few frigates, a capship or two. Something with firepower. I stir up a few things, make a few things, go, uh," Qwynt searches for the word. "Go boom? Right. And then, heh heh, you get a nice percentage of my earnings, a portion of my new tribute when I am back in charge of the CSA. Either way, you start getting new orders because the galaxy is whipped into a frenzy over the fighting. You old crafty warmonger." He pauses to watch Smitherbodkins's response. "Of course," Smitherbodkins says, waving away the mention of that little bit of unpleasantness "Already forgotten. Business is business, after all." His expression remains quite friendly, and the holocall, excellent as the reception is, makes it quite difficult to gauge nuances of tone, should there be any change in it. "Thank you for turning me on to that excellent slicer, by the way. Murdock DuPree, is it? I believe I may have a job or two for a being of his talents, in the future." The offer of a business deal, however, is quite shocking; no one can stun Smitherbodkins into silence quite like Qwynt can. He doesn't speak for a moment, eyebrows raising as he attempts to discern whether or not the Toydarian is serious. A holocall is really not the way he prefers to do business for just this reason. "I believe that, ah, I am quite capable of running the CEC without your help. As you say, wartime is quite profitable for shipyards such as that, and there are rumblings in the galaxy worth much more than your little revolution." Qwynt is not so talented at concealing his expressions or true purposes, for that matter. "Oh, Murdock," he says, expression grave and ashen. Qwynt releases a few swears, even dips into some colloquial verpine dialects for some range. He is truly an artist of filth and profanity. Qwynt mentally adds the verpine to a list that will end up being very unpleasant for the unusual insectoid. "Oh, well. I'm disappointed to hear that you won't listen to reason, Smitherbodkins." Qwynt leans back and matches the Corellian's pose, crossing his arms. "But I can't say I am surprised. One, it's good business and could be profitable for all of us, so why in the galaxy would you do that, heh? B, it's always personal with you isn't it? Still mad. If you ever want to be a galactic player, Smitherbodkins, you're going to have to get over that little attitude of yours." He holds up his hands, palms out. "Okay, fine fine. We'll both go our separate ways. Good luck with your new business. Keep an eye on it. I certainly will." He smiles toothily, the deep plaque on his tusks showing near the gumline. Smitherbodkins chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls a sheet of paper closer to him, making a note on it. Of course, it's not visible to Qwynt at this angle, and may have nothing to do with him at all. "'Still mad'? Oh, Mr. Qwynt, you do me a grievous wrong. Was my heartfelt apology and resignation from the board not enough to convince you of my forgiveness? Perhaps I did not prepare thoroughly. Practicing in a mirror is all very well, but to really develop nuance, you must watch a recording and critique your efforts. I just did not have time." He sets the stylus upright once more in his stand, his gaze already off Qwynt, the Toydarian's last words as insignificant as his miniscule holoimage. "Always a pleasure to hear from you. Please feel free to call in person, any time." Qwynt smiles at the camera, or perhaps snarls, reaching forward to key his own holocom unit, passing his fingertip through the field of vision to turn off his connection. He thinks it is finished, but doesn't realize the connection is still active. "Ok boys, let's do this." Someone mutters in the background, and he curses. "Say that again and I will space you, blast it! I am the damn Admiral! Now let's do our little surprise... wha?" His eyes take on a flash of terror and he plunges forwards again, this time successfully turning off the holocom.